Hard Contact
by flootzavut
Summary: She's not sure why she keeps ending up here, every evening since it happened, but she can't seem to help herself." Sequel to 'Contact'. Very gently M, borderline T.
Kate wraps her hands around her mug of coffee and wills the warmth to seep into her bloodstream. It's been over a week, and physically she checks out fine, and there's absolutely no reason she should feel like someone keeps dropping ice chips down her back.

She's also not sure why she keeps ending up here, every evening since it happened, but she can't seem to help herself.

Maybe it's because she was with Gibbs the last time she remembers feeling warm. Maybe it's because something about being curled into his lap as they both shivered has changed their relationship, even if they never talk about it. Maybe it was just enough to turn a working relationship - albeit a good one - into some kind of friendship.

If she can call turning up at his house unannounced and watching him do chores or work on his boat or build a fire a friendship. Eating steak and beer from a plate balanced on her knees, snacking from boxes of leftover takeout. Falling asleep on his couch and waking a few hours later with a blanket tucked neatly around her and the embers of the fire banked up so the room is still warm.

Whatever it is, somehow she's needed it. And she gets the strangest impression, each time she turns up, that he's relieved she's come, even grateful, though he'd never say it; that her being here means as much to him as it does to her. That maybe he needs it, too.

The coffee's gone way too quick, then she's tugging the sleeves of her borrowed hoodie down over her hands and hugging herself for want of a better way of getting cosy.

Gibbs looks up at her movement. She expects him to offer her another hot drink or maybe another layer, but instead he holds out the block and sandpaper in his hands. "Wanna go? Might help ya warm up."

He hasn't asked before, or at least not since the vaguely remembered conversation in the car. She wonders what's changed.

"Sure."

It's become more comfortable more quickly than she expected, spending an evening in his home, even if she's not sure why she's still down here in his chilly basement. She could decamp to his living room and the open fire up there, and she nearly has so many times tonight she's lost count, but she hasn't quite been able to pull herself away from here. From him.

She's been watching him for a while, like she has a couple of evenings this week, and she's grown accustomed to the rhythm of it, the pleasant monotony of his movements. It looks sort of relaxing, and she is still, as she always seems to be now, cold to her bones, so cold she's begun to wonder if she'll _ever_ properly warm up. She'd try anything that might help.

Sanding is looking surprisingly tempting.

He hands her the paper and block, and she expects him to move on to another job, or maybe sand a different rib. She doesn't expect his chest against her back, or his hands closing around hers, the bulk of him pushing into her as he demonstrates.

 _Oh_. _Ohhh._ She shuts her eyes involuntarily and bites down on what she suspects would've been a really embarrassing noise.

This is... well, it might actually get her warm, where everything else so far has failed. In the circumstances, she's inclined to go with it.

"See, put your whole body into it, let your weight do the work."

She nods vaguely. She's glad this isn't anything too technical or complex - she wouldn't be safe. It's not like she's never noticed before that Gibbs is an attractive guy, and given the number of times he's pushed or pulled or outright shoved her out of danger (not to mention landing on top of her on a few memorable occasions), she's long been aware he's... _solid_. In a way she really likes.

Until now, the awareness, the attraction, has been something she's more or less been able to keep a handle on, most of the time. And if sometimes she imagines his hands and his mouth as she touches herself late at night when she's having trouble sleeping, well, that's no one's business but her own, right?

Apparently her body has been keeping notes, waiting for an opportunity such as this one to point out to her that she likes him, body and soul alike, way more than she's let herself admit.

Maybe it's the memory of being tucked so carefully against his naked chest, him attempting to make small talk - the lengths he went to for her.

And hey, she's only human. She was half asleep, she was all but catatonic with cold, but she remembers how broad and warm he was, how strong and reassuring under her face and hands. How part of her was tempted to press her mouth into his skin and see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

Whatever it is, being caught between him and his boat is bringing all those needs and feelings up to the surface until her head is swimming.

The repetitive motion of sanding - she can see how it could be enjoyable, even meditative. And it's good to use her body, to do something physical, requiring no input from her mind. But with him _right there_... she's really not sure she's getting the full benefit. To say she's distracted would be an understatement of gigantic proportions.

If he doesn't stop soon, she's not sure she should be held accountable for her actions. This is at the very least sufficient provocation for some highly inappropriate touching, isn't it?

Then he stops, and she sighs, because she was really looking forward to giving in.

She might still find an excuse. Although he's no longer pressing into her back in the most delightful, suggestive motion, he's not drawing away, either, and it would be so easy to lean into him and just... surrender.

He's explaining something, his arms around her so he can demonstrate with both his hands where she can see. It's something about how the sandpaper becomes worn, and needs to be moved so a fresh part is against the wood, but she can't properly concentrate on his words. She can feel his breath on her neck and cheek and it's all she can do not to scream, or maybe just start undressing him. She shivers deliciously.

"You still cold, Kate?" He sounds concerned.

Okay, he's kidding her, right? He has to be. Surely Gibbs, of all people, is able to tell the difference between 'Brrr, I'm so cold' and 'Damn, your body feels so good against mine I'm about three seconds away from tearing all your clothes off'? She's warmer than she's been in days, weeks - _longer_ \- and it's _nothing_ to do with the weather.

She opens her mouth to say she's fine, better than fine, maybe something more flirtatious if she can come up with a clever tease, but what comes out is the whimper she smothered earlier.

He freezes for a moment, stock still, like he's been taken completely by surprise. " _Kate_?"

Another noise escapes her throat, a noise that's undeniably _want_ , and it pulls a noise of astonishment and yes, _want_ , from him. It seems like, somehow, he's missed how she's been getting more turned on and more needy by the second - or at least, he'd missed it until now, and finally he's caught on and is rapidly catching up. His breathing seems harsher and faster, which she thinks is a good sign.

"Not cold, then?" It would sound like an innocent question if his voice hadn't dramatically dropped in pitch, if it hadn't got rougher, if he weren't now speaking so close to her ear she can feel his lips moving.

"Not cold," she agrees, her voice high and shaky.

"Oh."

There's another long moment of total silence, and Kate lets her head fall back against his shoulder.

He apparently takes it for the invitation it decidedly was, because all of a sudden his lips are on her neck and he's crowding her against the hull, and she can't figure out how his erection escaped her notice before. In a split second, this has changed from a casual moment between two kinda sorta friends into something so much more, something utterly different, something she's absolutely ready to welcome.

The sanding paper and block are rapidly discarded, and his hands slide slowly up her body to cradle her breasts. She whimpers again as he squeezes gently and laughs low and dirty in her ear. One of her hands tightens over his, encouraging him to keep going, and the other hooks around his head to keep his mouth on her skin.

He laughs softly. "God, Katie."

"Less talk, more..." Well, just because she's ridiculously turned on doesn't mean she's suddenly lost all her scruples. And the way he laughs again, then uses the hand she doesn't have clamped to her body to grasp her jaw and turn her head so he can kiss her soundly, suggests he doesn't need her to specify.

His lips are firm, demanding, and she gives in gracefully and gratefully. Oh, _yes_.

His hand moves slowly downwards again, now she's made it obvious she has no intention of letting him stop, his fingers trailing down her neck, her chest, pausing to roll her nipple between his fingers (it sends a ripple of need through her body and she shudders) before slipping over her stomach and lower still. He chuckles into her mouth when she pushes into the touch, and he takes the hint, with another disbelieving laugh, and cups her through her pants.

She wriggles happily as he pulls her closer, grinds her backside into his crotch, and it's her turn to laugh when he swears against her lips.

He breaks away, panting, and when she opens her eyes he's looking down at her as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing. She holds his gaze even as he presses his hand more firmly against her and draws out a moan, watches his pupils dilate until the blue is almost drowned out by the black of his desire.

She grins lazily. "I think-" Her voice is breathless. "I think I'm starting to see- the attraction of- of woodwork, Gibbs."

For a moment he just stares at her, then he's shaking his head and laughing, burying his mouth in her skin, his teeth marking her even as his body rumbles with mirth and he murmurs "Kate Todd, you're a wicked girl," against her neck.

"Woman," she corrects.

"Huh?"

She digs her fingernails into his scalp. "Wicked woman. Woman. Not girl." She says it as a challenge, one she's very sure he won't be able to resist.

She's right. He moves closer, his body pinning her to the boat. "That so?"

"Yeah."

"Hmmm." His hand moves sinuously between her legs and she moans, pushes back. His other hand is still teasing and massaging her breast, and she's fairly certain he'll be able to get her off right here if he so chooses. "Yeah, Katie. You're all woman," he breathes. She'd think he was teasing, but he sounds more awed than amused. " _God_ , Kate, d'you have any idea how long I wanted to do this? How damn sexy you are?"

Her words have deserted her. She lets her eyes close again and gives in to sensation and heat.

"Sittin' at my desk, seein' you sittin' so close and not bein' allowed to just... 'S like torture."

His voice is molasses, sweet and dark, flowing over her.

"Gettin' in the elevator, scent of your hair in my face... so temptin'. Wanted to use the brake, push you up against the wall and taste ya." He mouths his way up her neck. "Delicious. Knew you'd taste good. _Knew_ it."

She meets his lips with hers, and even though he has her rutting against his hand like she's in heat, the kiss is still tender and warm and so unexpectedly soft.

His eyes are full of incredulous wonder when he pulls away, and the same wonder and disbelief is in his voice when he speaks again. "Watchin' you lose it. Feelin' you givin' in and fallin' apart. Bin dreamin' about this for so long, Kate, _so_ long. Glorious."

Her breathing is harder and faster, and she's losing control. He hasn't even got inside her clothing, and she's already on the verge of coming to pieces. "Gibbs," she manages to murmur, but it's all she can force out. His hands work in tandem, teasing, caressing, and she whimpers again.

"Never thought I'd get to. Never thought you'd let me." He shakes his head, his eyes roaming all over her face. "And then- God, Kate... I thought - I thought... So glad you're okay."

She blinks, confused by the sudden change of subject in the middle of him making her melt.

"Oh God, you were so cold. An' I couldn't - and I didn't know if..." His voice is even quieter now, husky not just with desire but with painful honesty. And fear. "Was scared, Katie. Was so scared. You were _so_ cold."

He's looking at her, his eyes as aching and desperate as his voice. She has a sudden vivid memory of drifting in and out of a doze against a warm body, and that voice telling her don't sleep, don't you dare fall asleep, _please_ stay awake. No, not telling her, _begging_ her. His voice and his warmth all she was aware of.

"Katie," he whispers, and for some reason it's what finally breaks her, and she's coming, gasping out his name as she shatters all over his hand.

When her breathing has slowed again and her heart rate is no longer thumping in her ears like a cavalry charge, she's surprised to find she's still actually upright. Gibbs' arms are firm around her, his face is buried in her hair, and he's mumbling something she can't quite decipher.

"Gibbs?" She has her voice back at last, even if it sounds like she's recovering from a nasty bout of laryngitis. "Gibbs?"

He laughs, and lets go of her with one hand just enough to sweep her hair aside so he can kiss her on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She bites her lip and lets out a noise she didn't realise she was capable of making. He laughs again. "Real glad you're alive, Katie," he murmurs.

He sounds so genuinely relieved, and it's _so_ not what she expected after he just took her apart without even undressing her, and suddenly she's laughing as well. "I'm glad too, Gibbs."

"Did really wanna do that, though. Even before you nearly froze on me."

She twists her head around to look at him. His eyes are happy, bright, and unexpectedly... shiny. She's never seen Gibbs look even capable of crying, but now she's half expecting the tears to start falling as she watches.

For a long moment they just gaze at each other, smiling foolishly. Then his smile turns a little wicked. "Kinda wanna do it again," he admits.

She wriggles back against him. "Think I'd like that. Under one condition."

"Oh yeah?" He raises his eyebrows, sceptical and intrigued and amused all at once.

"This time, can it be somewhere warmer and involve fewer clothes?"

His smile turns into a grin which turns into a laugh, which he presses into her skin with a shake of his head. "Know what, Katie?" he says, when he finally manages to speak again, "I'm thinkin' we can manage that."

 _~ fin ~_


End file.
